Sonnet CLXXXIII

The popcorn’s littered on the ground and rug
and in their hair. Like fireflies and moths
dismembered from the night and swiftly lost
(astray in happy warmth and friendly hugs).
Vermillion from movie marathons,
their beady eyes are flaming ochre suns,
persistent, gnawing movies; mouths a-froth;
the monsters all around the clock are up.

But fattened from the peanut butter’s taupe,
they’re hungry still and feed their growing greed
with movies, scary, wrapping them in fear.
But also wrapped in blankets, red and mauve,
they scream and yell and cackle, shout and screech;
but all in fun, for none shall shed a tear.

Sonnet CXXV

The moving pictures sometimes startle me,
their vividness is so believable.
The feelings felt so very vast and free,
the stories told so very palpable.

And yet the misinterpretations seen -
the segregation, so inevitable,
the liberty some take with history -
these things imprint themselves into our skulls.

And labelling becomes more prominent,
and scanty links with truth become less rare
and entertainment turns to ignorance.

Our joy should not be thought-imprisonment;
our movies shouldn’t bring those hopeless stares;
but wise enlightenment, not ignorance.